A grain of sand
by poor-ophelia
Summary: 11 rewrote.CH 13 UP.! CoD: Chaysula gets a midnight visitor in ch12, but who is it, and what do they want with her? and in 13, Ghanima tries to explain her actions to leto, and save leto from himself!READ READ READ READ READ! and don't forget, REVIEW!
1. a rogue element

A/N: this is my first Dune fic, it's definitely AU. Bear with me, I might not be as good at the politics as Frankie Boy, but there will definitely be some! I'll try my best to stick with the whole "Golden Path" Theme, but this is more a take off from the mini-series than the book, though I have read Children of Dune.  
  
The ever-present howl of the Arrakis wind gave substance to Leto's troubled thoughts, as he sat on a high rock out cropping of the sietch, staring out into the dark windswept planes of sand.  
  
*history is written on the sands of Arrakis they say. A history of death and corruption. One man tries to win peace, and all that he receives for his efforts is a bloody Jihad, raging across the empire, and a silent death on the sands.*  
  
Leto shifted closer towards the sietch wall, closer to the warmth. The desert was cold at night.  
  
*I don't believe he is dead. I believe he lives, walking the sands in blindness, preaching at the foot of my Aunt's holy temple. I believe these dreams are his, and now it is my turn. Alia is falling faster and faster into abomination, and it falls to us to make things right. This path is the only way-*  
  
"Leto?" Ghanima called, her silhouette lit from behind by the soft light of a glow globe, "Is it the golden path again? Have you had another dream?"  
  
She lowered herself beside him, watching his troubled face. How like he was to their grandfather, the first Duke Leto. He sat, brooding silently over other possibilities, other ways than the sacrifice of the path. But the path was at least clear. The face was not.  
  
"Yes, another. Our father this time. We were sitting by the sand trout, in a sietch I do not know, with old symbols carved into the walls." He answered, drawing spiralling shapes in the sand. "Ghani, do you remember the stories Harrah used to tell us? About the Water-Stealers?"  
  
"You think this place is Jacarutu?" She asked, a sceptical look that was far too old on her young face.  
  
"I think He's there Ghani," Leto told her softly.  
  
"Father?"  
  
"Yes. I think he's at Jacarutu."  
  
"We've believed he's alive for sometime. Why at Jacarutu? And why do I believe that this is not all that is troubling you dear brother?" Ghanima questioned, probing with her abilities to determine the cause of her brother's anxiety.  
  
"There's a new element in the dream Ghani. A rogue element. It's not supposed to be there." He told her, staring off into the distance, trying to understand the implications this could cause in the Golden Path.  
  
"What kind of rogue element?" She asked.  
  
"I don't know. It's a face, just the eyes mostly. They're fremen, the blue in blue, but they're not. Not really. This person is hiding from something. She's not supposed to be there." He told her, running a hand through his dark locks in frustration.  
  
"She? Are you sure it's a woman?"  
  
"Yes. The features are feminine. But she's not supposed to be there!" He cried, showing his emotions, a thing he only did in the presence of those he trusted.  
  
"You were not supposed to be their either, remember?" Ghani told him, "Father thought it would just be me, but it was you too, and humanity will be the better for it." She advised.  
  
"I cannot tell the nature of this woman. I sense fearlessness, and determination in the set of her eyes, and sometimes of her mouth, but nothing else is known to me. Maybe if I tried the spice trance-"  
  
"NO! You will become abomination, like Alia! We cannot risk the trance, it has too much risk." Ghani told him clutching his arm.  
  
Leto turned his head slowly, facing his twin. "Do not fear Ghani, fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration-"  
  
Ghani joined him in the litany against fear, calming herself in the Bene Gesserit way. "I will not fear, I will face my fear, and let it pass through me." 


	2. a proposal for marriage

Alia tramped through the halls in a profound rage, her long dark hair streaming out behind her.  
  
"I want to know her every movement! My mother is Bene Gesserit, and the Bene Gesserit never change! Why of all times would she choose now?"  
  
Her attendants rushed to keep up with the regent, "My Lady," One approached, "Council is meeting, and it is being held down the opposite hall,"  
  
"Postpone it!" Alia growled loudly. The voices inside her head were getting so loud, screaming and shouting and crying, of only it were quiet, if only she could concentrate.  
  
"Postpone it? But my lady Regent, You yourself called this council. The rest of the council is present and waiting,"  
  
Alia's wide mouth thinned in anger. "I am Alia, sister to Muad'dib, do not presume to tell me that which I already know!"  
  
Alia spun on her heel, moving fast down the opposite wall, towards the council chambers; hand on the hilt of her crysknife.  
  
~*~*~*~ That's right darling*~*~*~*~ a pompous voice inside her cooed, ~*~*~*~Show them your anger, so they shall fear you. They presume to much, these filthy fremen rats*~*~*~  
  
Alia slowly lifted her hand from her weapon, and took deep Memnotic breaths, calming herself in the Prana Bindu trance. It took almost half a second.  
  
She threw the doors wide, and found accusing eyes staring at her.  
  
"Stilgar, Duncan.Irulan." She tagged on, leaving Irulan to last on purpose to show Irulan's lack of contribution to the council, and her contempt for the Bene Gesserit witch.  
  
"Where are the twins?" Alia questioned.  
  
"At the sietch, where they are safe." was Stilgar's stern reply.  
  
Alia glared, "they are only young in body Stil,"  
  
"And even the prescient can die of a lasgun or a knife in the back. The rebel tribes are frequenting the city more often; I would not put them in danger." He stated accusingly.  
  
Duncan Idaho, The Ghola, nodded. "Intelligence suggests they would plan an assassination attempt,"  
  
"And House Corrino?" Alia inquired pointedly, leaving her gaze lingering on Irulan purposefully before turning to listen to Duncan's response.  
  
"Quiet. They would not risk an attack; the Saudakar forces are not strong enough for a campaign."  
  
"The other means?" Alia added.  
  
"They seem to be biding their time, with offers of friendship, and all gifts have a non-harmful Nature. The still-suits they sent for the twins are of fine quality," He answered.  
  
"As we are on the subject of gifts and propositions," Irulan began, "House Utaren has been sending many gifts as well, and has proposed a marriage, with a lavish dowry,"  
  
"For who?" Stilgar questioned, his face dubious.  
  
"For Leto, Ayaneal offers his eldest daughter in marriage. They are close in age, her being the younger if I recall correctly."  
  
"Chaysula, Daughter of Ayaneal's first wife, Daitrey. She was Bene Gesserit." Alia answered, disgusted. "another Bene Gesserit breeding scheme!"  
  
"Chaysula is not Bene Gesserit. Her mother went missing before they could complete her training. Daitrey has been missing for three years." Irulan countered.  
  
Duncan frowned. "there is a chance she had another teacher,"  
  
Irulan shook her head in disagreement. "No, there isn't. Ayaneal has a heavy hand. It was planned that another teacher be sent, but Ayaneal forbid it, after Daitrey left he swore he would have no other Witches in his House. He violently beat both his wife and his daughter often. He almost killed Chaysula after he received the letter of proposal. We thought it best to keep the genes. Her children could be trained even if she was not."  
  
"Ayaneal is power hungry. He seeks fortune in trade if his daughter has a hold on the empire." Duncan announced. He noticed his wife's preoccupation, and called quietly to her, "Alia, Alia, are you alright?"  
  
her head shot up, a disoriented look upon her face for no more than a half a second until it was once more the familiar mask of impassiveness.  
  
"I'm fine. No more than a headache. I will retire to my chambers." She got up abruptly and left.  
***Alia, you're slipping.*** Irulan Thought silently as she watched the retreating figure of her sister-in-law. 


	3. this is hate

"The proposal has been received Count," The ambiguous voice announced. Chaysula crept slowly closer to the door, peering through the crack to hear more.  
  
Life with her father, the heartless and cruel Count Ayaneal Utaren had taught her never to ask, and never to disagree, at least where he could see. And he as well it seemed, had learned never to tell her of things that she would deem undesirable, waiting until the last possible moment, where she would be forced by due etiquette and survival instinct to agree, and follow meekly, or be rewarded with a sound beating.  
  
She shuddered to think of the last time she had rebelled against his ruthlessness, when she had secretly given sanctuary to a Bene Gesserit, in hopes of finally finding where her mother was hidden. The Bene Gesserit was quickly disposed of, mauled by an Ivaz Cougar, or so the story went. Mohave Prime was a wild planet, with beasts of all sorts, ferocious mostly, the harsh grasslands giving way to dessert and chaparral, a dry, barren place most thought, fit for the most ruthless of animals. Her father.  
  
"What was the ruling of the imperium?" Ayaneal's sinister voice replied, taking great pleasure in the fear he instilled in the hearts of his servants. She could see him towering over the Pygmy with his broad barrel chest, foreboding in his every gesture. He reeked of devices. As he tapped his hand against the black corded Yulirean marble desk, she could see the wheels turning in his sly brain.  
  
Chaysula leaned back from the door, breathing deeply, pursuing the Memnotic trance her mother had taught her before-before she left.  
  
*proposal-ruling of the imperium-the spice-proposal-marriage proposal-who? The imperium-Leto-I am of age-* She gasped silently as the answer erupted into her thought processes, the answer to the question. *father wishes to marry me to Emperor Leto in order to gain larger CHOAM holdings! He fears with the recent turmoil on Arrakis, the only way to remain powerful within the Lansraad is through the thing all crave, the spice! And spice equals power in the universe!*  
  
Chaysula resumed her crouched position at the opening of the door, suddenly aware of the weight of her thick dark earthen brown hair upon her head, coiled in elaborate braids, and weighted by the traditional beads.  
  
She forced that awareness from her consciousness as she continued to eavesdrop. She still had a question though, how would her father gain access to increased CHOAM holdings if it was Leto who controlled the empire?  
  
"There has been no decision regarding the proposal as of yet. Our intelligence within the priesthood and the palace guard has been.vague.though there is talk of House Corrino and the obvious disfavour within the imperium." The servant answered, slowly retreating. "If that is all my lord,"  
  
"That is not all! You speak when spoken to and leave when told! I am your liege lord and shall be treated as if I were the utmost thing in your measly little life!" Ayaneal barked.  
  
"Was there any indication towards an approval during council? What did the scribe say?" The Count demanded. Chaysula resisted the urge to reposition herself when her foot began to ache, eager to hear what would answer her last question.  
  
"When the Regent, Alia, found out that Chaysula was not fully Bene Gesserit, she did not seem altogether opposed."  
  
"Ha!" Her father laughed, expelling his breath violently. "See what my judgement has done! She could be Empress! She could control the empire! And we could control the real power. We could gain a significant number of CHOAM holdings through this arrangement,"  
  
He paused, tapping his finger once more upon the marble. The tapping of the finger meant a plan, it always meant a plan, or cruelty, both often seemed to go hand in hand where her father was concerned.  
  
Ayaneal paused to look at his pygmy servant, a harsh smile, more like the baring of fangs, sat blithely upon his handsome features. "You're wondering, I know Hadgi, how this might be done. And as steward of my household, I trust you to keep this of the utmost secrecy, for genius must be recognized, and treachery will find your wife and children swiftly bloodied and murdered upon the savannah." He gave a blithe little laugh and continued.  
  
"I shall place my most loyal servants in my daughter's retinue, my most lethal as well. Once Emperor Leto has gotten a child upon her, I shall seize it just after birth, by care of my own wet nurse, the aging, but still quite sharp Jahur, who shall threaten Chaysula that if she does not murder her dear husband, her child will be tortured, beaten and worse, maybe even killed. And if she does not accede to my wishes, another of my loyalists shall murder him, and her child shall be fostered on Mohave Prime until such time as she sees fit to gift me a large portion of the CHOAM stock the Emperium holds, effectively giving me the most power in the Lansraad, and the Empire. Chaysula shall be no more than a puppet regent for her child, and who shall hold the strings, but I, who shall take hostage her own offspring?"  
  
Hadgi knew better than to show his revulsion by words or gesture, but Chaysula could see the shock and disgust in his eyes.  
  
Once more, she silently shifted, going over all the possibilities within her mind of how she might save herself from a life of slavery to her father, fearing for her child, and herself and the Empire, if what he said came to pass.  
  
It took no more than a few seconds to locate and balance all possibilities that could occur within Prana Bindu meditation.  
  
Chaysula stood, knowing that there was only one course of action she could allow herself to take. Only one way she would be forever free of her father's ruthless scheming, his cruelty.  
  
She lifted her head, standing as regally as her petit frame allowed, ready to step forward into the lion's mouth, ready to finally rebel, rebel without hope of ever having to go back to that fearful place.  
  
She began to step forward as the lack of forethought suddenly leapt upon her, realization of her plight fully dawning upon her conscious. She turned heel and retreated, merely a silent shadow down the corridor.  
  
*I have no where to turn. I have no place to go. I cannot hope to escape death by public sanctuary, Father is intelligent enough to assassinate me quietly while his plan still remains intact and Geneva or Kenya can take my place, mindless as they are. If only mother where here.* Chaysula despaired as she entered the training chamber.  
  
A small, inquisitive face turned, Faruka, her friend, a Pygmy slave who served her quietly and faithfully, accompanied by the familiar deep purr of Ankhar, the baby Ivaz cougar she had adopted, no more than a month before. "My Lady," The slave began.  
  
"I'll have none of that formal crap at the moment Faruka," She answered brusquely. Faruka was one whom she could let down her guard and speak candidly; totally devoted to the first friendly, kind master she ever received. "I need your brain now more than ever dear friend,"  
  
Chaysula dictated the entire situation, while tiny Ankhar rubbed against her legs, Faruka listened rapt and silent, noting every nuance and every small gesture that Chaysula indicated was important. They discussed a plan of escape, and in turn, a plan of attack.  
  
Faruka cocked her head to the side, a gesture she often struck when thinking. "What about the Sisterhood? They could help you, could they not? Your mother was one of them, and you have been nothing but kind to all Bene Gesserit, even with the terror of your father licking at your heels like an Arawn wolf,"  
  
Chaysula nodded. "They need my genes. Better to save the genes and risk, than lose all hope," She answered, the prospect of her future brightened.  
  
Faruka put a comforting arm about her Lady's shoulder. "I have friends within the smugglers. I can get a message to them in a few hours. The sooner the better." Faruka glanced at her master, an odd, seldom seen look upon Chaysula's face. "Do not fear, Chaysula, it mars your beauty." She comforted, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.  
  
"This is not fear. This is hate." 


	4. a package

"M'Lady, you have a message from the sisterhood," Gurney Halleck announced, striding across the floor of the space cruiser.  
  
"From the sisterhood?" The Lady Jessica asked, intrigued. *I wonder what they ask. Surely not to convince Ghanima and Leto? Maybe Alia, but I am already on a mission to find the truth of her condition.* She took the letter from Gurney with no more than a nod, no confusion apparent on her pristine, but aging features.  
  
She read the missive carefully, and folded it back up. "Dispose of this Gurney. I want no one to see it. It is of the utmost importance. And tell the men there will be a small change of plans. We dock on Moon Alpha Oberon, orbiting around Mohave Prime."  
  
"M'Lady?" Gurney Questioned, a look of apprehension upon his mangled visage.  
  
"Let us say we are.picking up a package, shall we?"  
  
"You'll tell me later, won't you? I don't like being kept in the dark, you know that." He asked, turning towards the door.  
  
"Don't worry Gurney. I'll tell you once this.package.is delivered," She said mysteriously. "You may go now, and inform the men." 


	5. delivery

Leto sat up in bed, breathing in gasping breaths. Ghanima was awake, he knew it, because he had heard her breathing change when he'd woken in such a state.  
  
"I saw her again Ghani. I saw her, in a sietch, dancing. And I saw our grandmother. She's coming here soon, Lady Jessica. Alia told us yesterday, and now I've seen her here.she has something to do with all of it, I'm sure of it."  
  
Ghanima sighed, and threw off the covers, walking over to his bedside. "I know she's coming. I was there as well. Alia says we should be careful of her, that she's still Bene Gesserit,"  
  
Leto nodded, "Bene Gesserit at the beginning, her own creature at the middle, and then Bene Gesserit again. I say we find out how much we can confide. To trust in Alia in her state is.unprofitable to us."  
  
Chaysula clutched Ankhar close to her, soothing her unconsciously by the sound of his purring. She was dressed like a commoner of Mohave Prime, clothed in brightly dyed fabrics swathed and folded and wrapped around her, her long dark hair was braided and wound in a Bahdu, a cloth of black cambric, signifying her age and status. Black was for the common folk, white for the merchant class, brown for the servants, and yellow for the slaves.  
  
Faruka led her along the interstellar docking station, carefully avoiding being seen. They blended together among the wandering crowds, making their way slowly but purposefully over to a towering man with an ink vine scar marring his face.  
  
Faruka indicated to Chaysula that she should bow low, as she did herself. "Gurney Halleck," Faruka spoke. "It is good to see you old friend."  
  
Gurney smiled lovingly. "We missed you, Faruka, old girl. Smuggling just wasn't the same without you. After you'd been captured, we all thought that was the end of it for you. Never thought I'd see you again,"  
  
Faruka scoffed. "Of course not. But I am lucky. I was sent back to my home- world as a slave, and I was bought to be a companion. But I am here on a matter of great urgency. Ivorek has allowed me to transport something very important, and now I must see it reaches its destination, and for that, I need your help."  
  
Gurney raised a curious eyebrow, "I quit the smuggling business, unless you didn't hear,"  
  
"It's not for you; it's for your Lady. Tell her that an important package has arrived for her safe keeping. And tell her if she damages it in anyway, I'd cross a thousand galaxies to slit her throat." Faruka finished, punctuated by Ankhar's fierce little growl of agreement. Faruka grinned, and pushed Chaysula forward, who raised her eyes to meet that of Gurney's.  
  
"This is the package?" He asked incredulously.  
  
"Yes. I am." Chaysula stated, standing regally in her peasant garb, "I must speak with the Lady Jessica. Immediately. If it can be done without causing a scene, all the better, for I am being hunted."  
  
"Hunted by whom?" Gurney asked as he took her arm, turning away from his old companion.  
  
"My father. We must go quickly," She added, watching down the crowded corridor, seeing her father's men searching the swarm of human bodies for the missing heir. "Those are his men. I fear if they get any closer it will be the end of us all, indefinitely- "  
  
"But you-"Gurney began, taking stock of the surroundings.  
  
Chaysula let out an aggravated breath, taking hold of Gurney's arm with her free hand, indicating to Faruka to walk ahead as they made their way into the universal docking terminal. "The Lady Jessica received a letter did she not? A letter from the sisterhood, wasn't it?"  
  
She turned to him, but he just gazed, furrowing his eyebrows with discontent. "Don't answer that. I know she received it, or I wouldn't be here. My father has delusions on ruling the Emperium, and given the circumstances in which his delusions take, it is altogether too possible, given my status, and the wealth of my house, as well as my lack of Bene Gesserit education which could force the Regent to believe it would be a benefit."  
  
"YOU!" a deep baritone voice shouted across the expanse of meandering bodies, "HALT! IN THE NAME OF THE COUNT!"  
  
Gurney began to turn, but his smuggler companion told him in hushed tones, "Don't even stop. I wouldn't rush either. Just guide us onto the Atreides ship, and we will explain all we can,"  
  
"Women," Gurney cursed as he led them past security with a flash of the Atreides badge. No one dared defy him while he wore it, and no one dared question him about the new arrivals he'd acquired in such a short period of time either.  
  
They boarded the ship quickly, Gurney sending his men to tell the navigator to take flight, and others, commanding them to guard the door against all but their own.  
  
"Still efficient I see, Gurney Halleck," Faruka said, an air of relief flooding her. She would tell no one, but the fear she felt disobeying the Count, standing open and alone unable to defend Chaysula or herself had plagued her, deeply frightened her. She had great admiration for her young charge, who had managed to maintain control of her faculties even after surviving such a tragic upbringing, and such a turbulent future.  
  
Chaysula was fearless. Sometimes Faruka just longed to shake her until she understood the terrible danger one small misstep would mean, one misspoken word, one flicker of emotion, just shake her until she understood fully the truth of her fragile existence balancing on a thread so thin it was invisible. But some how, Faruka thought she seemed to understand better than she would.  
  
They approached a set of Alloy doors, heavily guarded; Chaysula guessed it must always be this way, as Gurney Halleck approached it with nonchalance, although from his rigidity, she perceived he was wary of all possibilities that might harm his Lady. The doors slid open, and he turned. "I'll tell the Lady Jessica, please, wait here. Men, Guard them, if anyone comes on this ship and tries to take away these women, stop them,"  
  
The doors slid shut with a resounding silence, "My Lady," Gurney cleared his throat, glancing at her incredulously, "The package has arrived. I do wish you'd have told me first."  
  
Jessica's face lit with warmth and wonder, echoed in her voice and tone, "She's here? Daitrey's daughter?"  
  
"I dunno. The daughter of that rotten Count Utaren. The Child says he's hunting her, and I would be inclined to agree, with all the uniforms out in the port."  
  
There was a slight jolt, jarring the passengers as the Guild ship resumed its natural course, allowing Lady Jessica to regain her composure as Gurney ushered the girl in.  
  
Jessica was struck by the clear resemblance of her mother, in her stance, in the strength of her jaw, and the softness of her face, but there was something all her own as well, something powerful about her, it seemed. Daitrey was so similar to this creature, and yet so different. The girl she remembered on Wallach five was a gifted Bene Gesserit, but she had none of the fire that shone in the eyes of her daughter, it smoldered beneath a surface of civilized temptation, she could see it there, hidden. She would have made a good fremen.  
  
"You are Chaysula Utaren?" Lady Jessica asked, her voice softened by childhood memories of a dear friend.  
  
Chaysula nodded, "I am."  
  
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if you read, please tell me what you think! I love suggestions, and I love to hear reader's opinions! 


	6. rogue

remember, I love feedback, so tell me what you think, I love hearing it!!!!  
  
***********************  
  
"You must remember to stop acting like this!" Alia told the twins, her tone betraying her exasperation.  
  
"Acting like what Aunt?" Ghanima questioned feigning innocence. They strode down the halls of the palace, the three of them, Alia, Ghani and Leto, who, at the moment, was trying to get his coat on, but could not for the life of him get the lapel to sit right.  
  
"Ghani?" He pleaded, making his blue in blue eyes big and sad and unable to resist.  
  
"Oh alright. But one day that wont work with someone, someone, is going to be able to tell you no," She joked, as they caught up to Alia.  
  
"Father hated coats like these to, but I dare say he wouldn't care, so long as grandmother was there." Leto said to them, as they assembled on the palace steps, looking regal and utterly intangible.  
  
"She is a Bene Gesserit! You know what she thinks of us! You must protect yourselves from her!" Alia intoned.  
  
The large guild transport ship descended slowly and majestically before the gathered crowd, a hush settling over the populace. The heavy metal door opened to reveal Lady Jessica in all her splendor, followed closely by Gurney Halleck.  
  
This was what the mob below the steps saw, this was what Alia and Ghanima and Stilgar saw. Leto saw something different.  
  
He saw a girl, dressed in typical fremen clothing, a coppery-red aba (I think that's what they're called in the book), and a light sandy colored burnoose on her abundant dark brown locks. She was walking unnoticed out of the back hatch, where she quickly blended into the crowded court yard. Leto watched her, because he knew her. She was the rogue element of his dreams, his visions had not failed him. 


	7. begginings

A/N: this is AU, but I'm just reminding you guys. I have added a new factor (sort of) to Fremen Culture, called a Mi'kiyla. Not a big change, just a way to get the plot to go where I need it to! Don't forget to review!!!!!!!!!!  
  
*******************************Flash Back*****************************************  
"Come, sit with me," the softly modulated voice of Lady Jessica Atreides cut through the Prana Bindu meditation like a knife, subtly edged.  
  
Raising her head to face her mentor, Chaysula Utaren rose from the floor mat. "As you wish, Reverend Mother," She sat herself down gracefully beside Lady Jessica, watching her new teacher with a certain awe. This was a woman who had done as she had, and had not only survived, but prospered.  
  
"You know not where you shall be taken, isn't that right child?" Lady Jessica intoned, warmth creeping into her voice.  
  
"No, I don't. It was said it was for the best, so I could not be condemned by a Truth-Sayer. I saw merit to it." She answered.  
  
"And since have not inquired as to where you shall spend the rest of your days." added the Bene Gesserit.  
  
"I don't plan to spend the rest of my days in exile." She explained succinctly, her tone belaying her hatred. Lady Jessica understood hatred. In Chaysula, she even encouraged it. When she and Paul had ventured into the deep desert, the hate pushed her forward, guided her towards survival, because her death was just too easy for those she wished to punish. She understood hate. Once the hate is gone, only purpose remains.  
  
"Good." Jessica told her. "You know that I plan to visit my daughter and my grandchildren on Arrakis," Chaysula nodded, waiting for Jessica to continue. "I believe that you could build a life there, among the fremen. Your father wouldn't be able to mount an investigation, because the Emperium would deny him, seeing it as a threat, a maneuver to gain intelligence."  
  
"but, the fremen would not allow it, I am not desert born, I'm a child of the savanna, surely-"  
  
"I have already contacted those loyal to me in the desert. The first, of course is Stilgar. It seems that my first idea, of setting up a story, saying you are a niece of Stilgar's from a Rebel Sietch that had just been attacked would not do. Stilgar has informed me of the many attacks, but also of Alia's.furthering difficulties, making it even more dangerous for the Twins to be anywhere but the Sietch. It would not be advantageous to seek your exile-"  
  
"I was supposed to wed him. Leto. Father had it all planned." Chaysula stated sadly.  
  
Jessica chose to over-look the comment and proceed on the briefing that she had begun. "Yes. Well you are free of any path that you yourself do not choose anymore. Anyways, Stilgar has told me though that there have been an astounding number of Rebel sietches obliterated by Alia's men. It would be unwise to settle. The best cover you have is to become a Mi'kiyla."  
  
Chaysula furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "what is a Mi'kiyla?" The word sounded interesting, mysterious, and Chaysula found herself intrigued.  
  
"A Mi'kiyla is a wanderer. Often, and in the case of your cover story, during times of war, when sietches are wiped out, there are often survivors with no place to go, no relatives to accept them at their fire, and take them into their sietch, so they end up wandering the desert, learning the songs and the sacred dances of their people, and any other songs or dances that could entertain, stopping for a while at each sietch they pass, for the Naib is sworn by Fremen law to give sustenance and shelter to any Mi'kiyla that asks. In return, the Mi'kiyla is expected to entertain that sietch. A Mi'kiyla is only aloud to settle when a member of the Sietch asks his or her hand in marriage, or, on the rarer occasion, is offered a place within the Sietch, and is given full confidence of the Naib."  
  
"And it would be best to become a Mi'kiyla because that way I would not be easy to find. And given the circumstances involved on Arrakis right now, the odds of a new Mi'kiyla are quite high. One more would not be noticed. I accept this. Thank you for going to such trouble for me, Lady Jessica. I admit, I was wary at first-"  
  
"And you had need to be. Your life has not been easy, a double threat, living with a father such as yours, with no one to protect you, as well as attacks from other houses in the lansraad seeking to put an end to house Utaren. Wariness is not a fault. It is a skill most need to cultivate very thoroughly. You just had the misfortune to learn this early on. You're like your mother, more than just your appearance. You have her will, but I daresay more of it, and much more strength and determination than most women."  
  
********************************************************************  
  
The plan was made. The stage was set. Chaysula glanced nervously out the window of the Guild Transport ship, thinking if things could possibly get any harder. She had spent a month learning a great deal of Fremen songs, ancient and recent, to add to her repertoire of Songs that she had already learnt from the Savanna people, the Kyiries. Her finger-tips were calloused from spending so much time playing and practicing the balliset. She had learned all about riding a worm, she even had Jessica's old Maker-Hooks, and a new thumper attacked to a belt on her still-suit. The only thing left for her to do now was to put in the contacts she would need to pass for Fremen.  
  
"Here I must leave you," the gentle voice of Lady Jessica softly broke into Chaysula's stream of consciousness, awakening her from her fears and her constant preparation. She looked up, underneath her burnoose, to gaze at her mentor. "Go to Sietch Tabr first. Even if the twins are there, you will only be a Mi'kiyla to them. Speak with Stilgar, he will teach you the correct way to ride a worm, although you seem to have grasped the basics nicely. Stilgar will give you information you need to know about the sietches, their allegiances, their alignment, details that will be useful to you. I wish you luck. May Shai-Halud clear the path before you, and the blessings of Muad'dib follow you on your journey."  
  
She grasped Chaysula's small, young hand in hers, and looked into her eyes. "I'm counting on you. I must go." And with no more than that, she turned gracefully, and was followed by gurney, who paused to stop and deliver one last fleeting word of advice to Chaysula.  
  
"You be tough girl. You are already. But You be tough. Oh, and by the way, your Kitty, Ankhar, the right beastie he is, he isn't from the desert. If anyone asks, just say your father got him from a smuggler. Tell'm I was the smuggler if you need to. Make up a story saying we were good friends or something. But be careful. I'll miss teaching you girl. You got a way with the balliset. It does my heart good to hear such sweet music playing from those strings." Gurney stooped over, and pressed a parting kiss on her forehead, in a fatherly gesture, straightening, and fallowing his lady.  
  
"It's now or never," She told the small sandy colored kitten she clutched, putting Ankhar into a soft woven bag that slung across her shoulders and rested on her hip. The crowd began to cheer jubilantly, and she took her chance, opening the back hatch, and climbing discretely from the guild ship, mingling with the crowd. She pushed her way through to half- way, and lifted her now blue in blue eyes to see the spectacle as it played out before her, and, catching herself in a wistful moment, hoping to glance fleetingly at the man she would have been promised to.  
  
Burly shoulders blocked her view, so she shifted to get a better look. He was medium height, built with whip-cord strength, a cat-like musculature. He looked strikingly like a caged animal; there was something fierce, something almost tangibly powerful in his stance. His eyes were deep set beneath dark brows, melancholy, brooding eyes, like one who has known too much in too little time, and has often had to act on things one would never hope to. His aquiline nose lead down to wide, sensual lips, revealing a small, wry dimple as he greeted his grandmother, he had a strong jaw, and broad shoulders.  
  
Chaysula sighed. He was a man she could have learned to appreciate, to respect, and even, if she permitted herself to think on it, love. She gasped, and halted, she had thought for a moment his gaze had flickered over to her, had paused briefly, but briefly nonetheless on her face. It was unnerving, but Chaysula was determined not to act out of the ordinary, so she stayed in her place until the royal entourage had entered the palace, and began to move warily through the streets of Arrakeen. 


	8. the Journey

She meandered through the bustling streets, navigating her way toward the appointed meeting place, a small, ramshackle push-cart, laden with Icons of the Holy One, Muad'dib and his sister. The owner was a portly man wearing a Stil-suit beneath his clothes, the sign of desert Fremen. It was hidden deftly beneath layers of woven fabric, and a large cloak.  
"I see Muad'dib, and The Holiest Sister, yet of the Reverend Mother, I see no Icons." Chaysula gazed upwards through her lashes, speaking the words softly. The Fremen gave no indication that he had understood the subtle code she had spoken, save his off-hand reply.  
"We do not sell Icons of her in the streets of Arrakeen, though she is much revered in the desert still. Please, follow me, and I shall show you our new merchandise." He waved his hand toward an alley lined with crates, and began to waddle over. His grin dimpled his fleshy cheeks as they both spoke low words over the boxes of Icons.  
"So, you are the girl she sends us. The new Mi'kiyla. Be sure you make a song of the kindness of the Fremen. It is not our strongest trait, no, but we do treasure it."  
Chaysula smiled warmly over the Icons, "It will be the first thing I do as a Mi'kiyla. You have my word on that friend."  
He gave a gruff laugh, and began to explain the exit they would take from the city. "Tonight when all is quiet, we leave the city. Once we have passed the shield wall, I shall place a thumper in the ground and call a worm. A few hours walk from the sietch I will leave you, so there is no appearance of us arriving together. May Shai-Halud clear the path before you, Young one."  
"You are kind to me. I will not forget it." She told him truthfully. At that moment, a small series of growls found their way into the air from the large satchel that lay at her hip. "Oh, Ankhar! I almost forgot!"  
"What is this growling?" asked the man, curiously raising an eyebrow in her direction.  
"My pet. An Ivaz Cougar from my home world. I have been feeding him sleeping medicines, until we leave the city, but it seems I have forgotten to feed him one." She slipped her hand into a pocket, pulling out a treat for Ankhar. A few minutes after eating it, the growls had subsided.  
  
*************************************  
"Hello grandmother," Leto intoned, stepping into her room from a small doorway, followed closely by Ghanima, who looked very closely at her grandmother.  
"You thought we were them, didn't you?" She asked softly.  
Lady Jessica smiled, and inclined her head, "I must say it was not an.unpleasant moment." Her eyes twinkled with joy as she gazed at her grandchildren. She admitted to herself silently that Ayaneal Utaren had not been altogether wrong in thinking of a match between Leto and Chaysula. They would hold each other in a balance, his calmness would belay her fire, and she in turn, would ignite in him a passion. "but," She thought to herself, "I could never forgive myself if I let another innocent child be used as my own son was. As I was.as I am."  
Although years of practice had sculpted her facial concentration into a finely honed tool, something of this troubling thought must have shown on her face, in her expression, for Leto took a step forward, his eyes narrowed with a dark sort of curiosity, and asked, though not unpleasantly or harshly, "Grandmother? What are you thinking about?"  
She lied, although the lie was a truth by rights. "I'm thinking about how much you are like your father,"  
A small smile graced his face when the chamber doors were thrown wide. Alia glared at both of the disobedient twins, "I thought we agreed to give her time to rest," She told them forcefully, indicating clearly that they should leave.  
As they sauntered down the hall, Leto began to tell his sister of what he had seen, and of what he suspected.  
"I know she lied when she said what she was thinking. She knows, and not only that, I think she's a part of it." Leto finished, rounding a tall gleaming column.  
"But why would our grandmother want to hurt us?" Ghanima questioned, flaunting an obvious point.  
"There are three positions in which it could have occurred, one, she is Bene Gesserit, and they need us still. Two, she doesn't know the danger she brings, and three; it could be no danger at all. But I am not inclined to believe the last." ******************************************************  
Chaysula rolled haphazardly across the sands, finally able to stand after her dismount from the worm. She raised her hand in farewell to Jalud, the desert fremen who had helped her on her journey into exile. The worm faded into the night and the distant dunes, leaving her once more to her own profound loneliness, and the undulating sands.  
Sighing, she hitched her Frem-kit up a bit farther and started across the desert while the sweltering sands remained cool. She journeyed toward sietch Tabr, where Stilgar, Naib of the sietch, and her next contact, would help her disappear, from the eyes of her father, and the eyes of the universe. She was no more. She was a free agent in the universe.  
Once more, the weight in her hip-satchel began to stir, but this time, she unclasped the hook and drew Ankhar from his captivity, setting him on the sands beside her, where he trotted along, happily unaware of any of the despair his mistress was feeling, which, oddly enough, drew her from her sadness, forcing her to concentrate on the task at hand. Reaching Sietch Tabr. 


	9. Father dearest

********************back on Mohave Prime**************************  
  
Ayaneal Utaren seethed as he paced the floor in his too large, impersonal office. "The little Bene Gesserit witch! The treachery of her mother- I should have beat it out of her!! I was too lenient on the little wench! When I find her.her miniscule grasp of pain will be nothing compared to what I inflict upon her, her and every single thing she cares about.starting with that slave of hers, That too loyal, prideful pygmy." He paused, resting his hand on an ornamental whip; the design brought through the centuries, known for the pain it inflicted, the Cat O' Nine Tails. He flashed a sadistic smile, more of a bearing of teeth than anything else, as he snatched the whip from it's resting pace on the mantle. "Hadgi!" He barked, his voice dripping with a laconic poison, "Take me to the slave!" a thought came to him then. He might be well able to use his addle-brained daughter's poor excuse for an escape to his advantage, in the Emperium, and within the lansraad itself, to be precise, House Corrino. He walked with a terrible swagger, unable to with-hold his glee as he was led to the dungeons hidden beneath the fortress. The air was dank and moldy, where as the dungeon itself was sullied beneath the mire and filth of those poor unfortunate souls who found themselves within it, the deepest, darkest gates of hell. To Ayaneal, a hardcore sadist, the atmosphere of terror, the aroma of coppery blood and vomit was as alluring as any lover. He caressed the Cat O' Nine Tails whip in his hands, rubbed it softly against his cheek, and shuddered with pleasure at the sight of the one prisoner he so desired to see. "Faruka," He whispered in inviting tones, some how twisted in serpentine cruelty. His eyes grew alight to see the once prideful Pygmy soiled in her own squalor, living in a small cell with only her terror to belay the screams that echoed through the walls. He had them specially designed for that echo. She took a few steps back, and finding herself against the wall, cowered as her tormentor cooed, "Oh Faruka, there's no need to be afraid." He let the ends of the whip fall softly onto the stone floor, the steel-studded tips clicking with agonizing portent as the door creaked open. "On second thought. Be afraid." He told her in all seriousness, the mock- lover gone. All that remained was a monster. "Scream for me." Ayaneal Utaren commanded. Faruka screamed. ************************************************************** 


	10. Reverend Mother

Irulan was apprehensive as she entered the Lady Jessica's chamber. Never had they held any love for one another, only a mutual respect within the sisterhood, and the shared bond of protection and love for the twins.  
The twins. They were all that mattered now. Alia was falling faster and faster into abomination, what little hold she had on herself and her sanity was swiftly eluding her grasp as she commanded armies of her priests to abolish rebel sietches, those who did not mold to her will. A mad potter was what she was, molding and shaping what was once beautiful and dangerous into a frail cracked society, all it's faults visible for all who wished to see. Irulan knew that, and, she was certain, so did Jessica.  
"Irulan," was the abrupt greeting she received. Her eyes scanned the room for any hearing devices, before she began to reply.  
"Jessica, we have much need to speak-"  
Irulan was cut of by a raised hand, a hint, and a cue of what would really be happening in this meeting. They would speak not with their mouths, but in the Hand gestures of the sisterhood, a curious safeguard, Irulan thought.  
"It has been so long," Jessica stated, sitting in a high backed woven chair, gesturing for Irulan to do the same, while with her hands she spoke,  
*hush child, w are in enough danger already, I stress caution, no doubt you understand. There are eyes everywhere.*  
"Yes, Mother-In-Law, it has been quite some time, and I greatly desire to see you again. How is Caladan?"  
*My apologies. Forgive me, Lady Jessica. In my apprehension I seemed to have slipped.*  
"As beautiful as ever. But it is an easy beauty. I have missed the sands of Arrakis," Lady Jessica replied.  
*of course. Remember your training. Are the twins safe?*  
"It has a haunting beauty I dare say," Irulan spoke, though she watched Jessica's hands instead of her face as she truly spoke.  
*for now, though Alia becomes more forceful and ardent in her quest to make Either Leto or Ghanima take the spice trance*  
"The twins have grown since I last saw them,"  
*They will not be able to elude her forever. She will not always be so pre-occupied. They must be taken away from this place*  
Irulan nodded, "They seem to grow daily. Leto is a fine young man, witty though. Ghanima has grown very beautiful, she has a strong mind."  
*Where do you suggest? There is no where safe anymore.*  
Jessica glared at her. "It will be needed no doubt,"  
*there is always a safe place. Sietch Tabr has been declared neutral territory, has it not?*  
"I would hope she does not need to bother herself with the rigors of it all," Irulan relayed,  
*Yes it has. We will go as soon as possible,*  
"I would have my granddaughter learn to defend herself than rely on  
others," Jessica announced, still signing furiously.  
*go tomorrow. At dawn. Alia can do nothing or she breaks treaty with  
the Naibs.*  
"Sometimes one needs to rely on others. I will leave you now," Irulan  
told Jessica, raising from the chair to inform the twins. "Goodnight,"  
******************************************************  
Chaysula stood silently, Ankhar at her heels as she looked at  
the vast stone carving that marked the entrance to sietch Tabr, a man  
in robes with his hands held out, carved in stone, but no less real to  
the girl as she summoned the courage to approach her sanctuary.  
Stooping to pick up Ankhar, she failed to notice the shadowed  
silhouette that stood along the ridge, watching her as she  
purposefully strode inside, Ankhar inside his bag and balliset slung  
over her shoulder, like a bard of Ancient Terra Earth, come to lull  
the savage beast. 


	11. Mi'kiyla

The first thing she noticed as she entered the sietch was the smell. Dry and smelling distinctly of spice, the cinnamon smell invaded her senses along with the scent of spices, something like saffron, she thought.  
  
The sietch Gaurds were swarming about her in moments, and Chaysula found their stares marked not by suspicion, as she had dreaded, but curiosity.  
  
"Who are you? From which sietch do you hail?" A tall man, corded with muscle and sinew asked, looking speculatively at her beneath heavy, sagging eyebrows.  
  
She had not known what sietch she could say, she did not know much, and, she realized, that knowledge was ultimately her power, it was what she needed.  
  
"I am from a sietch that is no more. it is carried on the wind, no more than rubble and sand. The great Maker has called my people back to the desert. I am all that remain. Shai Halud has his due. I wander now. I am a Mi'kiyla. It is fremen tradition that I entertain sietch after sietch. I have no home now. I live upon the sands." She announced, hoping that her eloquent words would subdue their prodding. She had always had a way with words, affluence, if you would. It had saved her many a time and she hoped her luck would hold out.  
  
Stilgar approached her slowly. He could only be Stilgar, the deference paid to the wizened, but no less sharp old man was acute, his rulings were absolute, he had earned the respect he had, and wielded it rightly, with a clever brain, if not so sure a hand.  
  
"I, Stilgar, Naib of Sietch Tabr say for us all, We all grieve for the loss of your home. The sand shall cover us all one day child. Come. Eat, bathe. You can entertain us with song and dance and the weaving of tales as soon as that is done, but my Wife Harah would be angry with me if I did not insist." He put a comforting arm around her back and led her gently to a matronly woman with a weathered appearance and kind eyes. "This is my wife, Harah." Stilgar introduced, handing her off with a kindly smile.  
  
She was lead through the dimly lit tunnels to a spacious enclave, where she was sat down on some mats and quickly brought food filled with spice, a gamey meal of what she assumed was a carrion feeder, but she would take any nourishment she could get. Soon, and with great aplomb, Harah began to speak.  
  
"Ahhh, child. It's been a great while since we had a Mi'kiyla among us. It brings back sweet memories of my childhood. I see you carry a balliset," she started, but was interrupted by fierce kitty growls from Chaysula's satchel. Harah reached in, curiosity piqued, and brought out the writhing angry ball of fur that accompanied the growls  
  
"Ankhar!" Chaysula cried, "Behave yourself!" Her face grew heated at her slip. Chaysula was worried.  
  
"What a gorgeous creature. Such lustrous fur. He is fierce, no?" Harah asked as she held the spitting cat from her face, out of reach of his claws.  
  
"Yes. Simply ferocious. Or so he would have me believe." Chaysula stated with a wry grin, wrapping her arms around the cougar cub, which instantaneously became manageable, purring and snuggling like a baby.  
  
Harah clapped her hands with a delighted laugh. "Surely you are gifted, able to tame the savage beast from rage to sweetness!"  
  
Startled to find herself laughing with the kindly woman, she simply laughed some more.  
  
"He's an Ivaz Cougar from Mohave Prime. That was the planet my Father fought on during the great Jihad. He paid dearly for a smuggler to bring it, and gave him to me as a present. His name is Ankhar." She said smoothly, her lie was not questioned.  
  
"Come. The bath is drawn, and as a gift, we give you precious clothing." Harah said, helping the girl to her feet. "It is only fitting payment,"  
  
***************************************  
  
She felt much cleaner, in body and in spirit after her bath. It was as if she was washing away her old life. the gift of clothing was no mean thing. She wore a brilliant cerulean blue halter shirt, made of finely woven linen that fell to her knees, embroidered with desert symbols. Underneath she wore flowing, gauzy, semi-transparent pants that hugged her ankles, just as the top of the shirt was form fitting, showing off her ample curves, and from the bodice falling voluminously, cinched at the hips with a colorful scarf.  
  
She was lead reverently into what Chaysula assumed was the center room, a mushroom shaped cavern lit by glow-globes, sending off a mysterious light that dimly reflected off the stone walls. There, what she assumed was the whole of the sietch waited, sitting, fidgeting. The eyes of the small children lit up to see the story-weaver, singer, and the dancer. Many had never had the opportunity, which afforded her with a comfortable anonymity, for no matter how off she was, they would not know what to compare her to.  
  
She began by setting herself down, and tuning her balliset, and soon was playing a mournful tune of low, quiet notes, singing of a buried place, of a people long since forgotten by the ravages of time. She sang of their golden years, and their loves, she sang of their pride, and how it grew, until one day Shai-Halud could no longer stand for their arrogance, and how the once bright Sietch of Carrah'oha was attacked by another tribe, the rising tide of her balliset strings coming to a crescendo as she sang loudly and sadly of the storm the blew, encompassing them, burying all of what they held dear, their water only moisture in the sands.  
  
There was few dry eyes after that song, and she decided she would change the mood a little, playing a sweet lively tune of a boy on the threshold of manhood, riding his first worm upon the open sands, finding a girl her loved, of tying his water rings in her hair. The children clapped along with the beat, and a few of the older fremen took out instruments of their own; drums, timbales, panpipes, to accompany the tune.  
  
She laughed as she watched an aged couple begin dancing, followed shortly by more couples, young and old, and children who clapped and bobbed, trying their hand as well.  
  
Her first evening as a Mi'kiyla was passing with ease and laughter, even once she was persuaded by the fremen to dance by herself, another taking up the balliset as she moved to staccato beats, flamboyantly turning in a proud, almost defiant way, she danced with a vibrancy that drew him from the shadows, rather than just watching, he stepped through the crowd to offer his hand. Leto saw the fire that smoldered in her eyes, and as she took the hand he offered, she smiled radiantly.  
  
They danced. They spun, they were like fire and water, liquid and ethereal in each other's arms, the only heard the music. All else faded as they slid in a display of vibrant life and beauty that captivated their audience. Leto and Chaysula were breathing hard as the music ended, both gazing at each other half-hidden, one beneath her hair and eyelashes, and the other, Leto, casting his eyes toward her whenever he knew she wasn't looking. They parted ways then, Her, toward the children, with stories of strong men and ancient worlds, while he ambled toward his perturbed sister.  
  
"You shouldn't have danced with her," She told him softly.  
  
"Why not?" he questioned, staring fixedly upon the girl.  
  
"Because you know who she is. I saw her coming. I saw her enter the sietch. You have to be wary Leto." Ghanima lectured, pleading with him.  
  
"I was," He stated curtly.  
  
Ghanima grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around to face her. "How? By dancing with her?"  
  
"Yes. You can learn a lot about a person from how they dance." He told her in a clam, soothing manner. Patting her hand.  
  
"And what did you learn?" she asked him, interested now.  
  
"Not nearly enough," he replied.  
  
***********************************************  
  
Leto improvised getting closer to the Mi'kiyla by way of meandering around, pretending to be interested in the ending of a children's story, settling himself down on her side. The children were soon taken to sleep, and they were left alone for some time, before he began to put his plan into action.  
  
Leto allowed his gaze to wander from his task, resting, not unkindly upon the Mi'kiyla.  
  
"What's your name?" he quested softly, setting down the straw he had been fiddling with. It kept him busy, and his mind occupied. At the moment though, it entertained different thoughts altogether.  
  
There was something that beckoned to him from this girl; a melancholy sadness deep as her bones, he saw it in her eyes. But she was not made of tears and memories. This one was made of stronger stuff. She was as the fabled tiger from the poem of the antiquity of Terra Earth; fierce and raw and true, burning with the fires of unbridled passion, hammered into her very being, forged and tempered, it was the mettle of her soul.  
  
Chaysula had forgotten to breath in her shock, her heart pounding so loudly it was a wonder the whole of the sietch didn't hear it. She quickly reclaimed her senses from her fear and improvised as best she could.  
  
"My name is.Sula," She told him, not daring to look in the young man's eyes she felt certain he would know somehow, he would catch her lie. He had a disarming charm, and she feared her lie was writ plain on her face. She would need to be cautious with this one.  
  
"Sula.it sounds Fremen, but it is not." He replied, his all encompassing blue-in-blue eyes boring into her.  
  
"No. It's not. It is a name from the planet Mohave Prime. My father fought there during the great Jihad. He.Fell in love with it, you might say. He paid a smuggler to get Ankhar for me." She was Sula now, and she could never go back. She reminded herself sullenly as she smoothed the wrinkles of her skirt, hiding what she truly felt. Sula turned her head slowly sideways, peering at him from under soft, thick lashes, a curtain of her lustrous brown hair falling across her face.  
  
Leto reached to brush it from her eyes and paused. He realized he was unsure. He licked his lips, continuing, though a lot less confident and markedly more shaky. As he pushed her abundant locks behind her ear, he allowed his thumb to trace her temple, resting softly on her cheekbone.  
  
"What does it mean," He asked softly, barely breathing, removing his hand once he had finished speaking.  
  
"It means Wind Walker." She told him, her heart was pounding furiously.  
  
"Only a grain of sand may walk on the wind." He cautioned, not without care as he distanced himself from her.  
  
"Aren't we all just grains of sand walking on the wind? It takes millions just to make one dune," Sula replied, a triumphant note in her lilting voice.  
  
"A dune can be blown away," Leto answered pensively.  
  
"All things blow away in time, all but the Wind." She finished succinctly, undeniably steadfast in her truth, a wisdom beyond years present in her eyes. 


	12. the visit

The night sounds were quiet and methodical, as Ghanima slid from her coverings and through the many tunnels until she found that which she had been searching for. Creeping in a serpentine silence, she moved closer, drawing her crysknife in agonizing slowness, as she kneeled beside the sleeping figure of the Mi'kiyla.  
  
Something stirred in one of the dark corners of the cavern, and the girl opened her eyes. Blue-in-blue. She saw the knife at her throat, and then glanced toward the bearer.  
  
"it seems I have your attention," Ghanima intoned. She was so wholly centered on this moment she did not notice the feline blur that lunged at her, small as it was.  
  
Ankhar growled low in his throat, and Ghanima turned in time to raise her arm to protect her face. Her pupils were dilated with fear and shock, but no other emotion betrayed her, even as Ankhar sunk his sharp canines into her forearm, his jaw locking upon it. The pain was excruciating, but, she did not utter a sound.  
  
"And it seems I now have yours," Sula repied in a steely tone.  
  
"I could kill this beast."  
  
"Not before he rips out your throat and leaves your water spilled upon the sietch floor." She replied, throwing off her coverings. "Ankhar, to me."  
  
"So you claim some measure of loyalty," Ghanima said, the feline moving toward his master. blood dripping from her arm, pooling on the ground. "So I have one thing to say, and you had better hear it well. If you so much as raise a hand to my brother, I will kill you, and all you hold dear, with no qualms. Bi li kiafa, little Mi'Kiyla. I am always watching."  
  
"And I am always on guard," She returned, showing her the hidden crysknife in her hand. "Do not take me for a fool, or there will be less of your water to count before your death."  
  
"And yours." Ghanima warned, as she turned and left, the same way she had come. 


	13. Traitor

That morning, the sietch rose at dawn, sending off the Mi'kiyla with gifts of food and a new stil-suit, children waved exuberantly as the sun rose, washing the sands red with light.  
  
To Ghanima, it was a portent. An omen of things to come, if she and her twin did not move swiftly. She had a strange fear about this girl, who claimed to be a Mi'kiyla, with fremen eyes. She was not fremen, she could not be fremen. Fremen did not challenge a princess; they did not send their beast to rip apart her arm.  
  
On that thought, Ghani touched her forearm gingerly, and tried to pull her sleeve down farther to hide the dressings from her ever observant twin.  
  
"What happened?" Leto questioned, he had seen the dark circles under her eyes as they woke, and he noticed she continually pulled her sleeve farther down, and this, was cause for suspicion.  
  
"I don't know what you mean?" Ghani stated feigning innocence as Stilgar moved past them, beckoning the imperial heirs to send off the aba- clad girl. Her hair tumbled in numerous braids around her face, falling nearly to her hips outside the hood of both her stil-suit and the copper- red Aba.  
  
Leto allowed a small, conciliatory smile to grace his lips, turning at an angle that Ghani could not see. Her jealousy and animosity to Sula, whom he felt a strange connection with, was palpable. "I suppose I must bid you farewell, Mi'kiyla Sula. Perhaps one day the winds will bring us together once more," he clasped her small hand, and brought it to his lips, just barely brushing the skin, as his eyes gazed deeply into hers. It was not even a kiss, a mere transference of tangible feeling, like butterfly wings grazing each other.  
  
"If the great Maker allows it. Bi Li Kiafa, my Prince," She slid her hands over one another in the traditional fremen way, her heart pulling strangely, until Ghanima approached.  
  
"May the wind speed your journey, and may the sands always carry you, so you are never buried beneath them," The tall blonde warned cryptically, a sinister smile spreading across her face. Ankhar growled low in his throat, and Ghani narrowed her eyes at him.  
  
Ankhar stood, hackles raised, slowly moving in front of Sula, teeth barred. Stilgar imposed himself between the two, placing his hand upon Sula's shoulders, and Ankhar quieted.  
"Come, now child. We must call a maker."  
  
As they walked onto the sun bleached dunes, She turned and gazed fleetingly behind her, knowing for certain that they three were entangled in web of fate. One could not move without pulling the other out of balance.  
  
*******************  
  
It was midday, Leto was helping the smaller children get the afternoon meal, handing it to them with a smile and a laugh. He hadn't asked again about Ghani's arm, he hadn't wanted to know.  
  
She watched with a certain relief, knowing he was safe from the imposter's clutches, at least until next time. She wondered silently why he hadn't guessed what she was at, why he had been so open, so, she shuddered to think, inviting. Leto had always been the one to guess the devices of others, but maybe a beautiful face had thrown him ajar. Even with prescient ability, no one was perfect.  
  
This train of thought led her down a disturbing road, to the situation where her Aunt Alia found herself in. Abomination. The word itself made her grow cold with fear. She couldn't risk it, she wouldn't allow herself to, or Leto either.  
  
A stillness of motion alerted her unconscious to the possibility of danger, and she shifted her eyes toward Leto, who was gazing unobtrusively over her shoulder.  
  
"I believe we've found our traitor." He said, slowly handing another dish to a small girl, patting her on the head.  
  
"And yet for some reason, I don't believe he's our biggest threat," Ghanima stated pointedly, as she unconsciously made a motion to stroke her forearm. Leto didn't ask, and forced himself not to guess. He wouldn't believe it.  
  
She walked around the table and motioned for him to follow her through the labyrinth of sietch passages. "I think we need to make our escape."  
  
"now?"  
  
"Yes now," She answered pressingly.  
  
"I see the point, but what is the true reason?" He asked, grabbing for her arm since she had continued down the stairs, not even answering.  
  
She pivoted, her hair whipping around her face, settling in wild disarray, matching her frantic features. "I don't know what you mean," She said stoically.  
  
With a burst of furious energy, Leto pulled her arm to him and pushed up her sleeve in anger. "I think you understand my meaning well enough, blood of my blood! I want the truth from you, though I can easily see it in your eyes!"  
  
"I want you safe. Not because of her, not because of him," She pointed out through the tunnel, "But because of you! You said it yourself! Something is coming that you will not be able to control. 'The Whirlwind is coming,' you said it yourself! How many times have I heard you among the cliffs, how many times? I say it has already come! I also say that avoidance is nine tenths of safety, and to save the golden path, and to save ourselves, we must leave, now!" Ghanima shouted, almost believing it, except that deep inside the hidden parts of her mind, she could not stop seeing the boldness of those eyes as the fangs of her blood-thirsty cat sunk into her own flesh.  
  
"Alright," Leto said, hesitantly. They made their way to the storage room, and clothed themselves in the Corrino given stil-suits.  
  
*******************  
  
A silhouette among the shadows flung a hood over his face, and made way to the Corrino relay point. 


End file.
